About to get politically incorrect and I don’t give a fuck. This is how angry I am. And I didn’t just arrive here today.

People can be assholes.

Particularly postal workers.

Some context: I took a day off work to make an appointment (as i was directed to) with a particular-no fuck that-Mount Vernon Post Office-post office to get my kids passports done, which happens to be a priority.

I’ve already taken responsibility for my part in what transpires next, it ain’t pretty. And truth be told, I’m ashamed of myself-at least 2 percent ashamed, but fuck it-guilty, ashamed, in my rights-you decide.

The story must be told because I’m a fucking mess over the shit, since it pushed me someplace underground, deep and buried that I didn’t ever want to, nor thought I’d ever have to go.

But I went there, and here we are.

To make a long story short, my kids need a new passport. We can only acquire these passports if we make an appointment in person at one of the post office locations that offer this service.

Now. I am always meticulous when it comes to gathering information, and being prepared. Particularly when so much is riding on me getting this shit done today. With the passport situation being what it is (when I filed and expedited I was told it’d take 19 weeks!), and me needing the kids to see their grandmother in Toronto before Toronto no longer exists, I arranged for the day off to take care of this precious business. Also, I know how civil servants can act, depending on their demographic, so I prepared myself.

Every document had been organized for easy access. Beyond that, Smiles, innocuous repartee, insincere compliments and concern for… whatever were on the ready!

But of course. You can’t account for everything. The one thing, I hadn’t even thought they’d ask for, they did. I had everything BUT this one thing. I knew it. I knew it. I knew it!

Why are they always so happy to tell you no. Post Office agents especially. Now, I’m aware I’m making a stereotype. I kinda apologize but then I don’t.

Those of us who are educate are aware that stereotypes come from some form of truth. Is it fair? No.

But that’s the point.

And I’m about to make mine.

Me: (approaching window) Hi. I have an appointment for 11:15

Him: (flipping his head back and forth, screwing his face up as if he has trouble understanding). What?

Me: I have an appointment for a first time application for my boys-it’s at 11:15-

Him: (real snotty attitude) You have the application?

Me: (refusing to engage cuz I know better) Yes. Right here…( I pull out notarized statement of consent form) and the rest of the application…

Him: “You have a copy of the id?”

Me: I was told of everything I needed, they didn’t tell me I needed his id. His signature is there-notarization too. Why do I need that?

Him: (bitchy voice like he’s been watching video on how to talk like a bitch) I don’t know what they told you-

Me: (I fucking knew it)

Him: -but you need to have a copy of the father’s id.

Me: I knew it. (Angrily snatches up the documents. Goes outside to make a phone call to her husband.)

Me: (on the phone with husband) I told you! I told you!

Husband: I’m sending you a picture of my id. See if this will work.

Me: (Taking a deep breath. ) I’ll try. l will kill them with kindness, which always works. Good idea.

Me: (walking back inside the post office, re-entering the line)

Agent: (raises eyebrows with skepticism. doesn’t say hello)

Me: IRRATE! (How dare she?) Hi. I was just in line, the other agent told me I needed an id for the statement of consent and I wasn’t told that prior. My husband is going to send me a picture on my phone…(I already know it won’t work but…)can I use that?

Agent: (attitude in her monotone) You need to make a copy.

Me: You can’t just use the picture.

Agent: (more attitude, slight eye and neck rolling) You need a copy.

Me: (Indignant-how dare she respond to me like this-after all it took for me to procure the documents I already had, which up until this moment, were all I needed.) Ok, so you won’t accept the picture?

Agent: (Unsympathetic) A copy of the father’s id needs to go with the application.

Me: (trying to keep my cool) Ok but why wasn’t I told this and I read the required documents and it says nothing about that ( I went over it a few times, but I’m not ashamed to admit sometimes I miss stuff-but she rolled her eyes and caught an attitude, no bueno bitch! I won’t be dismissed )…

Agent: (Apathetic to my plight)

Me (to agent): (Furious because I know now that I’ll never get to Toronto for the summer) You don’t need to catch an attitude. You have to understand where I’m coming from. Fine. You hav a job to do, but you don’t have to be nasty.

(I can admit, I should have left the post office at this point but I needed to have the last word. She was such a self-righteous little asshole.)

Agent: (Raising her voice) I’m not giving you an attitude. (Gets up from her seat.) You know what–

Me: –This is what I’m talking about. How do you people keep your jobs? You are rude and obnoxious. You don’t know how to talk to people. Isn’t that a part of customer service? Making them feel wanted? Appreciating their business?

Agent: (staring blankly).

I’ll spare you the unsavory details: the bitch gets up, denies and ignores everything I point out, leaves me at the window.

Never comes back.

Me: (left bewildered; furious-causing a scene)
“It’s a wonder how any of you have a job? You don’t know how to deal with people.

I’m about to call your supervisor. This attitude, your unprofessionalism is astonishing! (They giggle and guffaw with those in line they don’t actually have to put in work for) No wonder this is where you end up. A fucking cliche! This is where you belong! No ambition, no courtesy, no future!


They don’t give a fuck.

I have to gather my belongings, pick up my head and tuck my tail between my legs. There is nothing I can do, except take another day off work two weeks from now-forfeiting pay for that day.

Nobody fucking cares.

I know.

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